


Pet

by Dyzzyah



Category: Homestuck
Genre: F/M, Humanstuck
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-19
Updated: 2011-12-19
Packaged: 2017-10-27 13:16:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,604
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/296251
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dyzzyah/pseuds/Dyzzyah
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You are Equius Zahhak, and you love to dote on your pet, the girl named Nepeta.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Pet

**Author's Note:**

> This is not even my favorite ship, but I had an idea, and I'm too tired now to back out. Ha! Take that, good sense! Anyway, I hope you enjoy it; I'm pretty sure this is somebody's kink.

Your beloved pet lays beside you, her soft belly exposed, ripe for rubbing, sprawled across her favorite cushion. She had finished her dinner quickly when you served it to her, and has now been dosing lightly for some while now. From where you sit on the couch, you easily reach over and gently scratch her behind the ear; this small disturbance wakes her, and she sleepily opens her eyes and stretches, yawning.

“Did I fall asleep again? Sorry,” she beams, brighter than the sunbeam she’s laying in.

You are Equius Zahhak, and you love to dote on your pet, the girl named Nepeta.

You would never tell her this, but you take great pains to lovingly tend her like an owner of a pedigree Persian. When you found her, she was a lost stray at eighteen, and you were a lonely young man of the same age, your heart still freshly broken from a love that did not last, and your accounts fat with your family’s money. She was uncultured and unkempt and unmannered, and your parents would have thrown a fit if they knew you took her in, but you have never cared about their fear of scandal, and you see no cause to start now. You have your family’s name and your family’s money, and that is all you have ever needed from the rest of your kin; for the most part, they have your silence and your best behavior, and that is all they have ever needed from you.

It has, on occasion, struck you that it is far, far too decadent a thing to keep a human girl for a pet. This excites you in ways you cannot bear to admit.

So here you are. You live with your pet girl in your modest house, and you shelter her and feed her fine foods, and you play with her, and you help her groom her hair on occasion; affection and entertainment being your payment. You groom her and you train her to be a lady of some worth, and she delights you with her playful antics. If she should wish to attend classes or get a job, you would see it happen, but for the last two years since you took her in, she has been more than content to spend her days by your side. When she came into your home, you gave her a guest room that she has not slept in since her first week of residence. Sometimes she sleeps on the couch, sometimes curled in an overstuffed chair, sometimes in the hammock out back when the weather is nice, but at night? She sleeps in your bed. You still remember that first night together; she stood at your bedroom door, knocking softly, asking so quietly, so timidly, to sleep in your bed. Against every proper and morally-sound fiber of your being, you allowed her under the covers, and she had not used her own bed since. Each night, you fall asleep, spooned up to her back, the sound of her breath and the smell of her hair are your lullaby. You have never made an advance on her, and for all your fantasies you think it likely that you never will; and when you wake each morning, she always seems to understand that your wood is nothing more than the cross a man must bear. At least, if she ever suspected otherwise, she has never said so.

Every morning, after you tend to yourself in the shower, you make breakfast while Nepeta takes her own shower. You try very hard not to think of bathing together. Sometimes it works. By the time she comes out of the bathroom, you have breakfast served for both of you, and you both take your time, she savoring her food and giggling about some thing or another, while you finish your food and watch her eat. You find yourself hypnotized, watching her eat, breathing in the delight she still expresses with every bite. Pleased squeaks dart out of her as easily as the clever little tongue that sweeps the pancake syrup from her lips. Two years, and you still cannot stop yourself from thinking about cleaning her lips with your own tongue, instead. Two years, and you still fail, and end up uncomfortably aroused beneath the tablecloth. You are thankful, every day, that you have been able to convince Nepeta that finicky digestion is the reason you prefer to sit for a while after she has left the table, as you will your erection away.

After breakfast, you play together, or you go out, or you just watch TV, and she curls up to your side. Only within the last month have you begun to put your arm around her when she lays against you; you had expected her to recoil, but she seemed only pleased, and even more so when you began to stroke her arm or her hair. You never touch her before she touches you, however, and you are ever vigilant, searching for any sign that your touch is unwelcome, but you never receive any such sign, so you have continued and even expanded this physical aspect of your relationship. Even though this is a fairly new addition to your routine, you’ve found some of her pleasure points: if you scratch behind her ears, or between her shoulder blades, or anywhere along her lower spine, she purrs and writhes and makes those happy little sounds that make you melt. Sometimes you think about what it would be like, getting her out of those ratty old clothes she insists on wearing, and what your hands could do to her body then, but really, you are fairly content watching her squirm with pleasure at your semi-platonic touches.

Her clothes are often ratty, though. Try as you might to convince her to get some nice dresses or new blouses, she will have none of it. In complete defiance of your willingness to purchase anything she might want and damn the expense, she will only wear items from thrift stores, or old things of yours, and she shuns any gift you get for her that does not fall into one of these categories. She has completely commandeered an old green coat you never really cared for, and she often steals your old shirts. She sleeps in and old black sleeveless shirt of yours and panties, and on hot days she might wear only that around the house, and you will never, ever tell her what that does to you. Instead, you compensate by buying more shirts for yourself, and you let her get first pick, though she invariably picks shirts you’ve worn for a long time.

Nepeta is a very well-kept pet, regardless of her fashion choices, because you always allow her whatever choice she wishes. You have enough money, she could wear nothing but silk and diamonds for the rest of her days, but she wears and says and does whatever she likes like an obstinate kitten. You keep her well-fed, well-groomed, well-protected, and well-tended; and she in turn is fit and sleek and happy, with whatever small amusements she might ever wish for.

You are not her master, by any stretch of the imagination. As with all cat owners, you could more appropriately be considered “staff.”

It is not often that you are alone, but when you are, you sometimes like to let your mind play. Perhaps it is not so impossible that the girl is attracted to you. Perhaps it is completely plausible that she wears your clothes, and cuddles so close to you, and sleeps with you curled around her, because she wants to be more than whatever it is that you are now. Perhaps she even likes the notion of being your thoroughly-spoiled pet; but that line of thinking leads dangerous places. Places where she might lay on her cushion, wearing naught but a collar. Places where she crawls around, greeting you by rubbing her cheeks and sides and hips against your legs. Places where she sits in your lap and demands to be petted, and you would stroke her wherever she might direct you, until she found herself satisfied. Places where…where…where the fuck are your towels? You can never ride this train of thought for long without needing something to clean up with.

In truth, you think you might well be satisfied with things as they are, you the servant and she the beloved pet. Nepeta is a clever thing, it is not impossible that she could have reasoned on her own that you want her, nor is it impossible that she continues to act as she does anyway, simply because she enjoys it. It would not be outside the realm of reason to wonder, if you spoke in your sleep, or if she eavesdropped during your few alone-moments, if she was not the source of your pent up urges. Nor is it outside the realm of possibility that there is a reason you seem to catch her tending to her own base needs—how could you not discover her, when she does it on your bed, with the door wide open?—and while the shock on her face when you discover her are clearly false and overdone, the lusty flush of her cheeks and the twinkle in her eye seem genuine. You are ever the gentleman, however, and you will not make an advance until she does, but even if things were to change, even if you could become lovers, you know full well that Nepeta will always be your darling pet.


End file.
